Queen of the Doughty Ones
by SimplyJane
Summary: This is not about heroes. Nor is it about deeds, or lands, nor anything about glory, honour, might, majesty, dominion, or power, except War. Above all I am not concerned with any else. My subject is War, and the pity of War. And the poetry of my story is in the pity. Eventual Eomer/OC
1. Chapter 1

This is my first time doing this, so be nice and constructive. I would love to hear what you have to say.

PROLOGUE

_Lord of the Rings _fans are a special breed. We believe whole-heartedly in elements that never where, or ever will be. We know the histories better than the names of our presidents; and we are forever baffled by a language that leaves us mystified.  
Tolkien's depth and genius has transformed our lives forever. There is no word in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of Men for this treasure. No adaptation can do it justice; and the characters exist only in our minds. Besides, outside the realm of the Story, there is no evidence to suggest that Tolkien did not create this himself—despite our fervent wishes.  
However, the professor wrote that an author cannot "remain wholly unaffected by his experience" and that the "soil(s) of experience" in which a "story-germ" uses, "are extremely complex and attempts to define the process are at best guesses from evidence that is inadequate and ambiguous". The latter portion had always made stop and think.  
Ambiguous, he writes. Ambiguous in terms of not existing, or ambiguous in terms of choosing to remain silent on the matter?  
Do you think that when placed in the same realm as Camelot, Middle Earth and the land of Tolkien was not so "faerie-like" after all? Maybe…just maybe, this place did at exist at one time.  
On the campus of Wheaton College, in a small cottage-like building, is housed one of the finest collections of the most famous British writers of all time. Within the small structure, you will find the Narnian wardrobe, Professor Lewis' desk, Tolkien's desk, pens, pencils, books, and other assorted items all collected from their lives.  
It is within the reading room, however, that you will find the heart of any Tolkien enthusiast, for snugly placed behind glass-pained bookshelves, are dozens of originally pieces and volumes of family histories.  
One day, while during my graduate years (a long time ago), I set about finding more on the subject of Tolkien's views on the people of Rohan.  
The gracious librarians had me reading stacks of letters and a various number of volume correspondences that all discusses the house of Eorl as if there were any other royal family in history. While the content made my heart race, I could not shake the sense that I wanted there to be more. Was I fool to think so?  
And besides, the ancient line of Eorl was no more than just a result of Anglo-Saxon influences. However what made me reconsider, was seeing Tolkien speak with too much familiarity about the comings and goings of the kings for it to be simply an allegorical mirror of Medieval Britannia. Could this be applied to the ambiguity he was referring?  
Or was I an idiot for thinking Middle Earth was the exception? Perhaps. But were we not guilty of the same offense in believing more in Camelot, when there is no valid evidence it ever existed, either?  
As I listened to rain batter against the window, I listened to myself and realized the reality in front of me. However tightly I closed my eyes, or however many stars I wished upon, at the end of this day, there would be no justifiable truth to my claims. It was not to be found. Either it only existed in my consciousness or the missing link was still out there. The truth of the matter was, that I needed to extract as much information as possible because the librarian was circling around.  
I looked at the clock, cursed myself, and went to work, thinking day dreaming no more upon the matter. My paper, at the end, was passionate and filled with the kind of things professors love to see. I had poured parts of my heart into this enterprise and graduated with distinction.  
Yet, after the ceremony, while wandering and fighting off nostalgia, I could not shake the urge tugging in my chest. Maps and sketches flooded back into mind; all feelings rushed back in and I could do nothing to dam it. Tolkien was keen in believing in the idea of myths; and so was I.

Once I had walked away from campus, I knew I had to search for the missing piece. Little did I know that that element of ambiguity would not remain so mystifying much longer.


	2. Chapter 2

I decided to begin this possible failure, on a cool day in the fall. I twittered with my jacket as I sat in the parking lot, internally debating whether to do this; and as I gradually grew sick to my stomach in trepidation, I thought to myself that I would have to go for it now or go home and let it pass.

Since I had not told anyone, I knew that if shame came my way, it would be only mine to bear and not come at the butt of jokes. Yet, I wanted so very much to be right. I wanted so very much for this place to be real. I mean, don't we all, as readers, wish for those Other Places to have existed at some point?

I then stepped out into the rain with this in mind, tightened the belt around me, and went through the large wooden door.

Only a handful of students were there, many whispering to women with name badges, as I went to the front desk and asked to see the head director. I was then introduced ("by sheer luck," the secretary said) to a man standing a head taller, with silver hair and stern, but kind face. Gulping, I explained who I was, what I was here to "research" and, after a bit of charm, was subsequently reacquainted with much of the same material I had seen last time. I flew through many of the same letters and documents, coming to same dead ends and empty pools.

There was nothing different and no inconsistency from what I could see. There were no watermarks or hidden messages; no whiff of cloud that would have me scurrying to the right direction. Putting down my pen, I was glad that no one would be able to ask this of me later; and I was content to go on with a further love affair with the world of Middle Earth, as it was; peacefully untouched by anyone and completely available to me whenever I needed to go home.

When we were cleared out for an hour's break, I went to the small museum area that held Professor Tolkien's desk. Have the ability to make a tangible connection with what I had put forth much energy was pleasant thing.

However, had this really been the ending of my discoveries, I wouldn't be writing all this down now would I?

On the under right side of Tolkien's desk I discovered a secret latch. I know it sounds uncanny and completely irrational given my previous explanations; yet, being a natural at instigation, I had passed my hand over it when pondering a letter they had on display. At first, I thought it a mistake, that I had imagined a splintered piece or what have you. When I looked up and saw no one watching, I bent down to see what the hell it was.

Tucked up near the edge was a small, thin metal latch that opened to an insignificant pocket that contained a petite, weather wooden box. In it were a dozen or so letters.

"Shit," I whispered.

I quickly tried to close the pocket back up, but the thing was too old to close properly and hung open like a barn door. This was not a daily occurrence and I briefly considered throwing the letters in the Narnian wardrobe. Then a thought occurred as I heard one of the librarians walking through the door.

These letters had never been discovered. Why not? How is it that given all that is known about Tolkien, why had no one ever thought to look here before? Either way, in an abrupt moment, I snatched the bunch and stuffed them into my bag as carefully as I could. It was not my objection to be a burglar when I woke up that morning; but since I had transformed into one, I walked back out the front door and into the rain.

I had made my mind up somewhere between Wheaton and Bolingbrook that I was at least oign to read them. That was obvious. I wanted to scream and beat my hands against my steering wheel; my skin was the only thing keep my insides together. I had wanted to keep this to myself. At least for right now.

"Then you must do something beyond reading them."

As I came closer to my rooms, it felt like those moments where reality and retrospective consciousness meet. Having done enough whining and contemplating, I exhaled sharply and began to read.

Beyond doubt, they were written by Tolkien. The handwriting was dead on and based off photocopies, they matched his preexisting proofs. Funny thing was they looked quite similar to writing in The Red Book of Westmarch. Past that, one common trait I immediately noticed was to whom they were all from and to whom they were addressed.

He had written "To My Lady Aerin" in the top left hand segment. It was astounding to read what he was discussing though. He writes that it was his hope that, "whatever is said between us is all said in truth. I wish to know all that goes on where you are and everything else you see fit to write". And as the letters progressed, he delves into the details of his studies, his students, his love for Edith, the Great War (a predominating topic) and a variety of other Tolkien trivia. He tells her of his studies and what he teaches; of his youth, Edith, and of what he wished to figure for the future.

Whoever this "Lady" was, she did not seem to be anything beyond an affectionately loved sister. Though, it's common knowledge that Tolkien had none. No where either in all the information known about his life, has there been a mention of name even remotely close to "Aerin". What else, it was quick remarkable the degree of intimacy with which he writes considering his affiliation with his male colleagues and the social contexts of the times. Women were excluded from this masculine circle; and yet, here he was writing to woman as if she were a man.

But the letters got better. No sooner had the war began to fade, Tolkien progressively dropped names that were as familiar as my own.

In one letter, dated around 1930, he confides that, "if the feat be true and the tales of Hobbits are something known to you, I confess I feel like Bilbo at the beginning of his Great Adventure. Burglars beware!" Here—finally—was something of value and substance and my heart quickened.

In a letter from the mid 1940's I began to see more names like Gandalf, Sauron, Elessar, Gondor, and then came requests for more descriptions of a tundra-like place, a land of vast plans and beautiful horses, which he calls "Rohan". He called them a people "…proud and willful, but..true-hearted, generous in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned". He seems to develop a fondness for this kingdom. I could not connect why he would search her out for information about this fictional nation, when it was he would had created everything about Middle Earth—to amuse anything beyond that was a risk not worth tantalizing over.

His accounts of the War of the Ring and the histories of Middle Earth prove that he knew what he was going to say long before he said any of it, choosing to spend words like dwindling coins or rare pipe weed. My eyes were not opened until he chided her for constantly asking something of Mithrandir. "Aerin," he writes, "take heed to not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger. In the end, the choice is yours: to go or to wait".

I was baffled why is he warns of Gandalf in the same way a brother warns his sister of rash judgment. Aerin was apparently asking something of the wizard that Tolkien deemed unwise. Then it hit me like cold water.

If Aerin were continually requesting something of Mithrandir, it must be since she was in the same vicinity as him. Yet here she was writing to Tolkien who was living in the Oxford suburbs tending his garden and teaching lectures? If these letters were authentic and not a forgery, then how could this be? Aerin is only ever mentioned in _The Silmarillion, The Unfinished Tales, _and she makes a brief appearance in _The Children of __Húrin_.

She has nothing to do with the Kingdom of Rohan in the first place; but here she was giving observations to Tolkien; enough, it seems, for him to continually want more. To my great surprise, he asks her opinion on information Gandalf has told him, as if to check his facts. If this was the same woman, how could she have known anything about the details of the court and military campaigns? Aerin perished in a fire centuries before the War besides! It was irritating me to think of them in the same context.

Up until now, I knew this world to be only a fictional place; and yet here was proof –along with other references—that supported the impossible. Somewhere within me persevered to believe this. It was unyielding all throughout the night and the next days. I could not get it out of my mind, as it had gradually become a fixation. In spite of that, I did not know what to do with it and so put it away. In hopes of something coming to me that would be a confirmation of this uncanny theory, I spoke of it to no one until one evening, around mid-October, I found myself pacing outside my advisor's office.

When the door burst open, I nearly lost my nerve. He took in my face and asked if I was all right.

"Yes. Fine."

"Then is there something I do for you, or can it wait until tomorrow?"

I stepped past him into his office and promptly sat down. His walls of books mocked me in that moment, pompously fluffing their pride of established knowledge. They were established, whereas my idea was new and foreign. Foreign ideas must be flushed out since they often harbor dangerous results. Though I did not like to show my emotions, I was biting my fingers so much that the taste of blood made me nauseated and come straight to the point.

"I think I found something about Tolkien that no one has before," I spilled out.

Dr. Dean, who had finally gotten around to sitting at his desk, chuckled a little and asked what it was I had found. "Tolkien," he cautioned lightheartedly, "is a very well known man. So I am interested to see what it is you think you have uncovered."

I produced a few letters and displayed them on his desk. I was not used to feeling this weighed down in this office. Being examined here felt like declaring a nasty truth in public. But I had to be certain to do this, otherwise I would have coward away and not come to Dr. Dean. My evidence was ample and my theory was becoming more sound (or was it less sound) the longer he considered the material.

"Hmm…" was all he uttered. He sat back and looked at me hard.

"Are they his?" I asked.

"They seem to be yes. But I still don't understand where you were expecting to take this."

I remember wring my toes before divulging in the tale of my past exploration. At the end, he rubbed his face and rocked a bit in his chair. The silence was easier to breathe in the longer neither of us said anything. As important as this was, I couldn't help but as him if it would be enough to use at a conference.

"No," he scoffed. "As significant as it may be to you, it is still a shaky theory. You have these letters in a two-sided conversation. If you had their reply, then that would be different."

"What do you suggest?"

"Well what is it you had planned to do?"

"To tell you the truth, I had never thought it'd be possible so the end point was never, fully, visualized. This was merely a pipeline dream."

I could only look at him with a calm façade. He again said nothing, preferring, so much as I could tell, to let time linger enough for all these sudden ideas to sink in.

"I'm not crazy Dr. Dean," I whispered. "I've thought about this for some time."

He seemed to ignore me and went about writing down a name and contact information.

"This is a good friend of Joan's, who has quite an extensive knowledge about Tolkien, Middle Earth lore and myth and what have you. Chances are you'll probably get your questions answered there better than here."

Dr. Dean folded his hands and crossed his legs. After the wooden clock above his head finished chiming, he turned to me and sternly said: "If these things that you have uncovered are true, there's no telling how this will affect the world".


	3. Chapter 3

I knew what I held was no regular objects. I knew that even a hundred years ago, this box had to serve a different purpose. The detail was too intricate to be a pen box (though it measured easily as one), and what more, its edges were gilded and rich shades of crimson, yellow, and jade surrounded figures that told a story of a knight and a woman. The ridges were rounded with age and at the bottom, a hole was beginning to warp. I was baffled at how something this archaic had survived all this time and remained in the condition that it had. Once this is passed, it might not be a bad idea considering contacting the Newberry Library and tempting their interest. For the moment, however, I was content to walk in the mist that had fallen on the ground.

Dr. Dean's friend, come to find, was a woman by the name of Elizabeth Edwards. For all her rumored knowledge of Middle Earth, her name was nowhere to found in connection with the subject. Call it a development of my generation, I found it hard to believe that she was as credible as Dr. Dean made her out to be if no other Tolkien experts had never mentioned her—nor if Google could find nothing on her. Granted, it is an understood fact that when a respected professor hands you a potential contact you ought to believe it to be credible. However, an unexplained element in me mandated that I see this Elizabeth Edwards in the flesh.

Her house, as I stepped to curb, was pleasing and charming. With ivy up the side and large trees lining the property, I seemed to have come upon an idyllic cottage rather than a home in the suburbs. Maybe it was the light October rain or some subconscious component on my part, but I swore that something gradually shifted within the time that I walked to the front door. There was a presence of importance that belonged to no bird or beast, which seamlessly emanated from everything around. I swallowed a lump and rang the bell.

From within came this thunderous growl met only by an equaling snarling face in the side window. The dog starred me down, challenge me to ring again, which I did. That was when a young woman dressed in a grey sweater answered. She was quick to call off the dog and then check me over.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I am looking for Elizabeth Edwards," I answered in what I hoped was a serious tone. "Do I have the right place?"

She starred hard at me and remained silent. I explained then, that I was a student of Dr. Howard Dean. The woman pressed her lips and stepped back before gesturing to me to come in.

"This is probably best heard inside," she said. "Besides you look chilled to the bone. Baldor, enough!"

Once we were inside, the woman disappeared. I peaked around a threshold (wearing of the large, soft dog glaring at me) and seated myself in the study, before a roaring fire. No sooner had I sat, she was through the doorway with a tray and hot tea.

"Do you care for sugar?" she asked, keenly glancing at the items I had set on the side table. I shook my head.

"I'm sorry for intruding," I went on to say, "But I only need to speak with Ms. Edwards for only a minute."

The woman sat down her saucer and looked at me.

"I am sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but my grandmother passed away five months back. She left the house to me. Had no one told you or Dr. Dean?"

"No," I quietly groaned. "Neither of us had any idea. I am sorry for your loss. I am sure that had Dr. Dean known he would never have sent me here."

"Gram's health was not the best, but thank you. Tell Dr. Dean for me will you? He was always such a kind man."

"And who should I say told me?"

"Erin Edwards."

All too quickly, the truth of my situation hit me. Even if this woman knew anything near the amount of information her grandmother knew, this was not the step I had wanted to take! I could not think in that place and the heat from the fire now seeped through my skin. When I looked up, I realized I must have missed a question.

"Miss Edwards I am sorry. I had hoped to meet with your grandmother to discuss something pertaining to my studies."

Erin looked not the least bit offended. Her face held a certain content that I rarely saw in people near my own age. When she stood to walk near the hearth, her movements seemed poised and deliberate; and from her spot at the mantle, she sternly asked, "What does your theory have to do with my grandmother?"

I checked my voice before speaking. With her face directed at the fire, I carefully described my situation vaguely as possible. Erin, meanwhile, was content to poke at the fire and nod once I had finished.

"That's quite an interesting perspective you have. Is that the box you found them in?"

"Yes."

"May I look at it?"

She ran her hands over the flat surfaces, feeling the groves and insides. There was a shadow of a grin on her mouth as she gave it back, commenting on the agreed rarity of the item.

"And you haven't a clue as to how it came to be there?"

"No. I had been more shocked by the contents than argue where it came from."

"Well," she sighed while stroking the dog's head, "I may not be as well versed in Middle Earth as you are, nor as scholarly, but I think that maybe you might be able to find more about this 'Lady Aerin' if you find out more about the box. That's just my opinion."

"How do you mean?" I wondered.

"It is a truth, is it not, that when we receive items from someone we care for, we keep the things close together, as if enshrining them. Have you thought of any correlation the letters and the box may have to each other?"

The concept was an obvious one that I had not yet figured and she seemed to have known as much while sipping her tea. My lack of a response must have come across as defeat and embarrassment.

"Forgive me," she whispered. "I am not used to visitors anymore and forget to mind what I say."

We finished the tea and were comfortable to watch the fire burn. My eyes stung as I mulled over what I was to do next. I did know a man who was living at the Kilns; perhaps he would be willing to discuss the possibility with me? There were other people out in the public too who would contribute to helping me, since once I made this idea public, aid would certainly come in. Was I being too desperate?

Her voice broke up my thoughts.

"Your face keeps falling the longer you sit. Is this really that important to you?"

In my current state, I could only scoff and attempt a cover smile. It was some time before I spoke.

"Haven't you ever just wanted something so badly and believed that it could be true, that when it slips just beyond your reach and out of your fingers, you know, in that deep part of your heart, that there is going to be nothing like it again and that from now on, there is no going back?"

I looked up and saw her watching me intently. The grip on her cup was white and her eyes appeared dewy.

"I once read a passage," she began faintly, "that comes from a great historical work that encompasses, I think, all that you and I have endured in our equal measures. The story goes that one man sits next to his friend, turns to him, and says: 'I don't rightly know what I want: but I have something to do before the end, and it lies ahead, not in the Shire. I must see it through, sir, if you understand me'." She quietly reached out and took me hand. "Not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost'".

There were no words to say, nor anything to conceive of what this invoked in me. To an extent, I was ashamed at my sudden emotional state. However when she took my hand, and chanted the poem, I could not help but feel despair and encouraged. I was being emptied of all sentiment and sensation as the fire went one and from somewhere I uttered for her to answer why she was saying these things.

"Not for a long while have a seen someone to whom I am able to confide, my dear."

Erin no longer looked like a young woman, but someone who had seen a lifetime's worth of care. No lines creased her face, neither was their anything to tell her true age. Everything about her was still vibrant, pretty, and fresh. Still she spoke to me with the presences of one who has seen much and carried many burdens.

"And I believe," she scarcely murmured, "that I may unburden my story onto one such as you".

"What are you saying?" I asked, pulling myself together.

"That box was a gift," she began. "It was a birthday present from the king of Rohan."

What was she going on? What king? I told her not spout something off for the sake of humoring me and began to collect what was mine and make for the door. Erin did not protest nor try to make me stay.

"Inside on the lid there is an insignia on the right hand bottom corner," she called out to me in the hall. "It should look something like an 'A' and an 'R' blended. Go ahead, look." There was a new sharpness in her voice as she rounded the corner. "You watched me inspect it. Did I open the box at all?"

Out of pride, I staunchly looked into the box. Damn me, but there on the bottom right hand corner was the same insignia she had described.

"Coincidence," I countered.

"You believe that? _You_ of all people?"

"If you're Aerin, where are the response copies?"

Erin calmly walked into the study across the hall and retrieved a compilation of weathered, aged letters. I opened and read each one of them and matched each with its reply.

"Tolkien's last letter was three days before his death," she said from her seat on the stairs. "That was…what...the thirtieth of August 1973? He wrote about the dinner of the Ad Eundem and what will happen when he cannot remember everything Middle Earth's history."

"That's impossible."

"Impossible? How is it impossible when the truth has been relieved? Are you emphatically going to deny it? Child, the things that baffle us the most and seem to be nothing more than myths and legends are true. The Ring ought to have taught you that."

"I don't believe you."

"Then I shan't stop you from leaving," she replied quietly. I fumbled with my bag and considered the revelation of the box. I could barely see when I held the knob in my hand; and still, I could not turn it. I still faced the door when she placed her hand on my shoulder.

"What does your heart tell you?" asked a soothing voice.

I barely uttered my next thought. This was beyond anything fiction or true I could have conceived of. Once I had turned and faced her again, I could only whisper.

"You are the Lady Aerin."

"I am much more than that child. Come, I have a great deal to tell you."


	4. Chapter 4

**{Revised: Updated}**

**I apologize for the delay in this update; elements beyond my control have made writing something that had to be put on the backburner for the time being. I hope you can forgive me; however, with seeing **_**The Hobbit**_** (so glad to be able to go back to Middle Earth) I felt compelled to publish what I had, even after battling a bout of writer's block. I also apologize for any errors. ~SJ~**

Aerin sat her tea and saucer plate on the table and stirred the fire. The logs popped and flared while Baldor, the dog, trotted in and laid his large head by her feet. The wind outside was going against the panes and over the grounds, the trees scrapped against their limbs and branches. The ceiling seemed stooped in age suddenly, containing the three of us in this safe haven, as if hidden from creeping eyes and leeching hands, or the disbelieving of our hearts. When she sat back in her chair, with her hands folded, I licked my lips and blew on my tea, which was still very hot.

As if to no one, Aerin said in a hushed voice, "I fear…I fear I will forget one day." I placed my cup to my lips and swallowed a little of the hot liquid. "All I know," she continued with a deep tone, "is that I thank the Almighty that you have come when you did. For just this morning, I could remember the sound of laughter in the Great Hall and now…now it's all befuddled and scarcely anything anymore. Tis more of an idea now, than a memory."

"Ideas are powerful, my lady," I remarked quietly. As quick as fire, she snapped her head up and scowled at me.

"I know the power the ideas, _child_," came the harsh retort. "And what would a mere youngling know of these things? You hold nothing but theories in a box, yet you call them ideas?" Her raised hand silenced my reply. "Take care to whom you lecture, for I have seen too many men spill their blood for the cause of ideas."

The rafters quivered in her aggression and, try as I may, my face blanked at feeling like charlatan; and on a corner post, deep within my mind, I knew she was right. From that instance onward, to the end of our night, I bit my tongue more often and thought it best to say very little at all.

Instead, I chose to observe how she acted and responded to the story now being drawn out. Had I not known better, the physicality of this experience was taxing on her; she melted in front of me and while possessing the freshness of a woman nearing her peak, something in her countenance mirrored otherwise.

"I am tired," she whispered to herself." Baldor went to her and slept at her feet. "These days have passed so, that I am beginning to feel stretched...tauten, as butter scrapped over too much bread. I know I don't look it, but I am old and growing no younger. My mind slackens to the things of this world and it angers me.

"I wish to tell you," Erin went on to explain, "So that one person may at least know the truth."

"But, is that not what Professor Tolkien did?" I wondered, swearing that I had let loose another obvious foolish phrase.

"Oh yes, Ronald wrote quite a lot of the histories (extensively so), did so beautifully too; but he spent a great deal of time either in Rivendell or in Minas Tirith with Gandalf, so not all that went on was seen. Why else do you think he instigated a correspondence with me?" She chuckled and began stroking Baldor's head.

"Not everything was made privy to his knowledge. A woman holds the secrets of her heart quite close and rarely shows them to anyone, if at all. And I have very deep secrets.

"Yet had I not set in my mind that you were a person to whom I could confide," she explained, her voice low, "do you think I would still be talking? I do not speak to hear the utterance of my own voice. As it is, the long explanations needed by the young are wearying and I have spoken enough to last two life times." Her eyes distanced and she scoffed "two lifetimes" to herself and the fire. I, however, wanting to believe and understand, could not grasp the intent of her last statement. Was it a form of reincarnation? On the other hand, was it another thing entirely, something along the lines of myths?

"That's what I don't understand madam," I finally asked. "You whisper of 'two lifetimes'. Why do you say that?"

Erin sat at ease to let the question linger about and fill up the space, going under the lamp and between the floorboards. Dark shades threatened to strike me at the heart with their doubt; yet, I thought, this poor woman was just as confounded and bewildered in this world as I. Even if all the speeches and all the flamboyant details were a collaboration of some ill-intended game, I knew—in the deeply rooted corners of my spirit— that this was not false testimony. I would remember everything. And as the words began tumbling from her mouth, slow at first and then faster, I ate them up like a starving man, desperate for substantial understanding and deliberate truth.

Here is the account of Aerin, Queen of the Doughty Ones.

_In the beginning, I was nothing more than a lost, bewildered, foreign woman._ There are connections to the moment I entered into the realm of Middle Earth that I never asked to be explained. Heaven knows that they would be beyond any person's comprehension; but I do not think it a part of the theory of space/time continuum, though I find myself applying to it. What offer of explanation I can give, however, is that at one moment I was in this world one moment and in the world of Arda, the next. The moment came as simply as stepping over a stream or closing your eyes at night. There was no traumatic accident or illusion of the mind; I was not the victim of an attack and I certainly was not kidnapped into that life. Nothing else seems to suit as an explanation better, than to plainly say that I was wholly sound and could think as clear as day.

That morning, however, I remember being under pressure to make a decision which vaguely went the way of my future. I went to a nearby wood to try to sort through the riot going on in my mind. However, when I came to fork in the trail (mind it had been some time since I was here last), I could tell that some figures had changed. Trees had in one way or another, altered themselves into mutated forms with twists and bends as I had never seen. Brush and foliage in the Midwest region did characterize themselves with knots and low hanging limbs all tangled together; they were black gum species and maples; now, once I stood solidly and spun around to see about, I saw trees that were twisted, dark in color, more immense in size, and had the same pigment as ebony trees.

Was this because of something I ate? Was this a shade in the dark, willingly coming from the supernatural world? Or, was this something so real, that I dare not believe it? I rubbed my eyes and still all came to nothing. Yelling out made no difference either.

I knew next to nothing at that point of reading trails and the references I knew were only stories logged away from reading fictional adventures. I felt so foolish that in the moment of my struggle, all that kept coming to mind were examples of independent female attributes of Margaret Hale! I could have shot myself in the foot with an arrow!

The inevitability, however, was that I needed to make a choice instead of sitting around for self-pity to swallow me up. Already it was circling around waiting for a moment of weakness to spring its teeth. Besides, God was not going to help me unless I helped myself and set my mind towards one direction. I therefore set upon going the direction I judged to be east. Eventually, having put a significant distance behind me, I came to a wide sweep of grass in a circular clearing. In the middle, I saw a large cut of ashen granite that appeared to protrude from the earth.

I went in the direction opposite of where I entered and walked for a long while, finding nothing more than thorns entwined with dying vines that grew along roots thick as thighs and branches low enough to climb. What my ears did not hear, were the common sounds of other living animals. I stopped when I no longer perceived the scuttling of beasts or rabbits, or birds, or any other creature. All that I could hear was the swaying of the branches and limbs and a deep groaning that echoed all throughout, terrifying me in a dark and beautiful way, as terrible as the dawn.

Be it that the sun was setting, I swallowed and grasped for what else could be done. Light was vanishing quickly into a bruised sky, and I had a seed thought that I was not going to leave this forest tonight. To wonder too far into the future would be death for my will power; and to ponder far into the past would tear my mentality asunder.

Tactic was immediate; the need to survive was instinctive. I knew that to find a place of protection was imperative; I knew nothing of the life of the forest and gradually fear more, that I would not live to see the sun return.

When at last the light went out, I stumbled through thickets and small bogs and felt myself being followed by a dark presence. A shadow licked at my heels and twittered on my cold fingers. I had no feasible wood pyre, no dry clothing, and yet as the ground began to descend, I saw through the thicket, a glowing, yellow light and raced towards it as fast as I could. That was when I came upon the village.

I delayed bursting straight through the woods and stayed behind the branches since what I saw put ice in my veins. Creatures, bent and running with ragged strides, went about clawing at the unarmed men, women, and children who clung to each other. These creature and their weapons, were crude and speckled with black. I witnessed a man being stuck with a sickle and looked on as it was turned and twisted about in his belly. Then, behind him, a woman was held back by the hair as her infant was tossed into the fire.

My knees gave as bindings were put around doors, blocking any means of an exit. The beasts cheered and cackled at their work and once they were gone (I couldn't tell you how long was their attack) I shuffled through the remains and tried to call for anyone else. But it was all in vain. Their bodies littered the immediate area; or, at least, what was left of them.

Goodness, I can still see their eyes and their mouths open. Those children…

Too delirious and overwhelmed, I fell to my knees and wept. I could taste it on my tongue and collecting down my throat. This was too much to handle, I reasoned, for anyone! In some state of consciousness, I huddled under a blanket and shook as the rain fell.

My mind wondered and fell out of space and time. I dreamt of nothing but fire and darkness. Suddenly, a great white light flashed into view and a woman with golden hair spoke to me to rise and fear no more. No sooner, she was gone and I awoke to the sight of a vast, golden plain that stretched across the land to the horizon. I stood and walked out into the open fields and saw great waves of grass billowing in the wind. The skies were open and perfect blue, as if the new day meant that evil was struck from the world forever.

Forces that are in league with the side of darkness use the elements of beauty and glitter, elements that would be used for good, to hide their malicious intent (recall that not all that glitters is as gold). That is what sealed a covenant for me. My hands were awash in the ashes of people I never knew; I had to drink from a trough to swallow the dust away and still I saw nothing but fallen embers and rising smoke.

Still, that I should be the one to have witnessed their end hardened me. Though I felt as if I were made of stone and would likely lie upon it forever, what the Lady of Light said caused me to grasp that I was not going to wallow here any longer. Drying me face and bidding my peace to their souls, I dressed with what other clothes I could find and made for a river I saw just south, about half a mile away.

There I washed my face, drank my fill and continued along the river's edge. It would not take a fool to know that people gathered near water. And I recognized that others, beyond the inhabitant of the town I discovered, would have done the same. Going further south, I followed the river until nightfall when I came to a ridge spotted with a broken rock. There, hidden behind the boulder, I saw across the plain, an old man draped in a gray cloak galloping on a brown charger. He dashed through the water and no soon had I lost sight of him, he all at once appeared next to my hiding spot. My presence must have started the rider more than the horse for he stopped suddenly and stared at me hard even in the dwindling light.

"Foolish woman!" he cried. "Have you no sense to stand back?"

I was unsure of what I should say to the sight of a man dressed in beggar's robes. He must have taken my silence as proof of this foolishness for he was quick to move past. However as he made to spur his horse onward, an idea leaped into my mind.

"Sir where am I?"

"Near the northern border of Rohan," he answered. "This is the River Entwash."

My mouth dropped. Fire rushed all throughout my being and I abruptly felt no longer attached to this earth.

"Rohan," I whispered. "Are you positive?"

"I have not time for this," he muttered to himself.

"No please! I am lost and I—please tell me, where are you headed?"He peered down at me and stared hard into my eyes. Thoughts flew about me faster than ever in my life. I was calming the storm when he cleared his throat and dismounted.

If I had thought anything of this man, (if my idea was correct), that was quickly thwarted. For he stood taller than I would have expected (though I was not sure why I would have expected it) and his face gave more to his age than anything else did. In the faded light even, I could see that within his eyes I had the slight chance of an ally.

"I might ask you the same," he said. "For in order to be lost, you must have somewhere to find. And it appears you know nothing of where that destinations lies, no?"

I bit my tongue and nodded.

"Forgive me Gandalf. I am—."

"Gandalf? Who says I am Gandalf?"

I was shocked to think that I had him wrong. He was thus far befitting of the descriptions given by Tolkien; and spoke with the same candor and dry, sardonic humor as Gandalf, riddles and all. In my haste, I repeated something of those thoughts, which amused him.

"Riddles?" he scoffed. "No not riddles! For I was talking aloud to myself. But it seems that I am he and that means Gandalf means me. What then, is your name fair lady?"

Periodically stunned at having to divulge information to a fictional individual, I conjured up the name Aerin. The name (brought up swiftly) sounded more appropriate; and, personally, I admired the true Aerin. Alas, I told him I was Aerin, daughter of Edward.

"Then Mistress Edwards, I will have you know that I am merely on a journey to the City of Kings for the sake of curiosity. Old men pass their ways in more deliberate means as it is."

Without command, I told of what I had seen and asked, with mixed suspicions, if this were in connection with the darkness that was growing in the south.

"Is that why you travel to the City?" His kindly features abruptly turned dark and he grabbed a hold of both my shoulders.

"What do you know of it?" His tone was threatening and I quickly realized I might have spoken too suddenly. "Speak not of what you know nothing about!"

His pace back and forth were darted movements and very soon he was back atop his horse.

"Then where am I to go?"

"With me of course. Or shall I leave you for the other forces at work here? I thought not."

He extended his arm and I was brought up to sit behind the wizard.

"We ride for Minus Tirith, where you shall tell me all you know. Perhaps you can be of some use there."

With a swift jump and kick of the horse, we blazed across the dark plains.

**Quote of the Day:**

"_**The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.**_**" **

**Happy Christmas and Happy New Year**

**~SJ~**


	5. Chapter 5

**I hope you are all enjoying this so far. And thank you again to all who left me pieces of their thoughts! ~ SJ ~**

The wizard raced us across the shadowed lands as if the very fingers of the Dark Lord were right behind us. In a sudden gust of wind, I clung tighter to Mithrandir and faintly wished I had never stumbled upon this place. I did not try to fight away the darkness that swirled in my midst; in some compartment of me, I wanted to embrace it and its familiar scent. The air chilled my skin and the adrenaline warmed my belly. Not for the first time did I wish be at home in my bed, surrounded by my books, safe and never doing any adventurous or anything unordinary.

When we came to a gap in the mountains, Gandalf pulled us aside and drew us into a brush. This was not a pause for food or water (though we had none) and this was not a time for idle rest; Gandalf had intentions in the south and I had delayed him. Therefore, according to the amount of grumbles and murmured complaining I heard coming from him, this trek in the name of an old man's curiosity was not going according to plan. And as we all know, Gandalf liked not the company of fools. I would have to show I was not such one if I were to be looked in the eye without a patronizing flare.

Then as I sighed, a new breeze dove into my lungs. I could not breathe for a moment; the panic was startling to say the least, but when the warmth spread throughout my belly and into my arms and legs, I thought I was going to be ill. Cool bursts of air rushed out with each breath and I saw, in the same manner we recall memories, the burning of flesh and the screaming. Even as Gandalf took my hand, the voice of child shrilled throughout the land. I looked up to him and hated the eyes he must have been seeing.

"Do not weep for those whose time has come," he said quietly. "They know no more suffering and are as peace upon white shores."

This comforted me enough to gasp, for the chill was gone. He turned to ready the horse as I stood, brushed off my face, and looked towards the east. It was a queer thing, that such a beautiful land should suffer so much fear and doubt. However, like the things in our world, most of the enemy lies in shadows, no longer being of the Seen world but of the Unseen.

"He's out there Mithrandir," I whispered to no one. "_He's _the one that did this."

Gandalf's tall shadow cast over me and I was disturbed to see in his eyes that I had struck a chord; the likes of which were his greatest fears. I raised my brow and wanted to ask more, but thought better of it. He helped up onto the horse and we were soon off.

"Through that pass," he shouted some time later. "Is Isengard and the head of my order."

"Saruman." The wizard did not me but continued to speak of Saruman's qualities, his wisdom through many dangers, his knowledge of the world and how he "truly lived his name". Did Gandalf not yet hear what he was saying? The entire character of Saruman was displayed before him colored in glittering gold! Saruman's cloak had surely blinded him.

"What knowledge of the world could he have if he stays in the tower?" I remarked. "Stagnate men, like stagnate water Gandalf, breed only dysentery."

"I will disregard that from someone who knows very little and has seen even less," he scoffed, pulling the horse to stop. "Though I do not envy what you have seen, the time for that is over and I shall say that you, brave Lady of the Wood, have the mind of a child you have to speak such needless things. Now be quiet and hold on."

Deep in my belly, rumbled a thunder that threatened to spill out in harsh words. Still, I held my tongue and we crossed the remainder of the Westfold in relative silence. That night however, as the sun melted into plums and ebony, I said my piece about what I had meant by my comment. I was weary in my heart about the white wizard, though I had never seen him in the flesh; but from what I could perceive of his name, I would be cautious to heed his council. Gandalf seemed irritated from merely me speaking, but soon pressed his lips together and I pray, saw my reasons.

"If he is a friend of yours," I continued as we again galloped across the plain, "and as wise as you say, it would be foolish to not seek other sources to compliment what he says." This, I would have said to anyone. Life had brought me a variety of people who were not always as innocent as they played to be.

For two days, we rode on. On the morning of the third day, we broke out of open space and gradually were wrapped into a gently slopped ravine as wide as I could see. From a distance, atop a large outcrop of land, was a sturdy city bordered by high walls and a tall, reinforced gate.

"Edoras," stated the wizard, a chime of awe in his voice. "The seat of the Rohirrim and Théoden, son of Thengel."

I could not help the swelling in my chest or the smile that stretch my lips. I had forever wished to know what Edoras would look like; and as was the case with many sights, even the most beautiful painting could have beheld the hall that seemed topped with gold. The mountains praised her beauty and the sun sang a reverent hymn of grace to a people's who lives were of a pattern I knew nothing of but yearned to try.

"Ah! It appears we have been spotted!" cried Gandalf in amusement. There, in the distance, came a rider bearing the standard of the king, a white horse against green. He shouted in a manner that I wanted to counter and shout at him back; Gandalf sternly looked at the rider and spoke to him, saying, "The lady wishes to see the King."

"On what business?" he tested. His horse darted from side to side in way to make him seem more menacing than his armor already did. He would think to startle me with his loud voice and quick movements, being one still round in the face and red in the cheeks. Had I not been aware of his people's pride, I would have snickered or done something to spite.

"I wish to pass through these lands to the south," I declared, shocking myself. "Mithrandir is my guide."

"Where is the rest of your company, my lady?"

"There are none," Gandalf interjected. "She was found among the ruins of a scorch village, near the line of Fangorn." The rider's eyes visibly widened at this news.

"Come," he then commanded. "Théoden King will want to know of this."


	6. Chapter 6

**I hope you all enjoy this bit. It was fun to write. Also, there will be more coming now that my free time is now my own (yeah). Don't worry; we're getting to good parts! xo ~SJ~**

I was frightfully aware that the moment we rode through the city gates, I was a marked spectacle. The ash around my face certainly had me looked dejected and desperate; the soldier certainly seemed to think so. I was a straggled survivor with a horrific story to tell my king. Only, he was _not_ my king and I was neither dejected nor desperate. I only sought for a justifiable reason why I had stumbled upon this world—that however was constant company for the present. There was nothing to hide the bold stares and obvious whispers to their neighbors; children seemed more curious about the woman dressed in men's breeches, whose face was ashen covered, whereas men watched me, and women judged me across the distance. Of course, it was not all at once, but the trek towards the Great Hall was a long one when initially navigating all the tiers and pathways; and besides, when one is critiqued from behind, it carries the same consciousness as sitting in a room alone, except sensing you are being watched.

I, however, instead of being pulled back down into the swirls of self-consciousness of an insecure girl, I perked my chin up and looked in the direction of the hall. The way was lined with cobble stones and worn paths; dormant grass grew in patches along the walls of homes and shops; flashes of color displayed goods from lands far away and the well off walked in colors of reds and vibrant yellows with cloth wrapped around their hair and various items of bronze hanging from their belts. I noticed bolts of venetian reds, Egyptian blues, a shade of green I had never seen before, yet found myself wanting.

But who would allow a woman dressed as I was anywhere near those shops of refinery? I was not in my element, and given my current circumstances, there were more important thing to consider. Latest fashions from the south (I naively presumed) would be of little concern once I was before the King.

And as we dismounted at the stables, the thought splashed on me like a cold spring. Today would be another day of firsts. I certainly had never any need to consider what I would do in the presence of a monarch before; so the chaos that arose quickly drove the thoughts of townsfolk to the outer edges and around the corner.

The soldier, who had escorted Gandalf and me, came along and lifted me off the horse. I was to take his arm as we climbed the winding stair to the great terrace of Meduseld. The wind fought fiercely against the standards of the Rohan and a fire in a pit dwindled and fought to stay alive. I saw grand parapets three deep; and once we made it to the top I saw that they were intricately carved with horse heads and mythical designs.

The imposing structure stood now tall and emanated a presence over these lands and into the distant hills. One could see for miles, and today had turned to be a cloudy day. When I heard the noise of the great doors opening, I turned to see a small unit of dressed men walking to us. One in front came and nodded to Gandalf.

"Gandalf Greyhame, the king welcomes you," said the man, who I took to be a commander of some measure.

Distilling my nervous stomach was the beauty of these men's amour. Such artisanship and care for detail moved me; and when the commander began to lead us to the inter chamber, I thought to looked toward the dais and saw, there sitting on his throne, Théoden, King of Rohan.

I was gathered behind Gandalf when we were brought before him, where I kept my eyes up and yet, partially felt ill for doing so. Did one look directly at a king? I glanced down at my feet and moved my toes around while listening to the conversation.

Gandalf bowed with respect and spoke to Théoden the news he had told his man.

"It was not in my direct path, but I nearly trampled across a woman who survived," explained the wizard, stepping aside.

I looked up and into the king's eyes. My chest swelled with air and I curtseyed as best I could. Instinctively my eyes lowered.

"Look up at me girl. What is your name?" asked the young king, who still carried an air of greatness.

"Aerin, your grace," I stated with force, which seemed to please him.

"You have seen much, have you not?" he consoled.

I nodded. The king then asked questions about the village and all that I had seen. Once he was satisfied, he asked me something that I did not yet consider.

"And you, brave one, you lived in that village, yes?"

Inhaling deeply, I snatched from somewhere, the concept that gave me an answer.

"No sir."

"Then, where do you come from? How did you come upon the village?"

"I had gone for a walk in the forest and—"

"A walk," scoffed a man. "In Fangorn Forest?" A small number of councilors chuckled.

"And what, lady?" the king encouraged. "What then?"

"I became was lost. I merely…watched from the trees. But my lord," I continued, turning to the king, "I have come from the West and stumbled upon the village by accident."

Gandalf shifted on his staff as the area grew silent and then stepped forward.

"There is another," he explained, drawing the attention of the court, "who is like her, lost and without knowledge of how this came to pass. I have been in search of an explanation for centuries. That is why we must travel to Gondor, Théoden King, to seek the answers the lady needs."

I steadily watched Théoden as he heard what the wizard had to say. I could see that it came to him gradually; the idea itself came to me gradually as well. I chilled at the thought of being left to swim in a tide which was stronger than me; I could not live this life, all this running and _hasting_, riding across empty plains and counting in on the hospitality of rustic kings! This was not a life I had prepared for! Damn the heavens! I wanted to spit on the cursed reason of me being here!

My body grew hotter, saliva poured into my mouth and tears prickled my eyes. But I was not about to be the Mysterious Western girl who broke down in the court of Rohan. I knew myself to be made more than that. Pride, besides, demanded that I steel my chin and bear whatever was dealt next.

Bets were, that this was a stress-induced dream that I would soon awake from and find myself tangled in forest limbs. The King nodded slowly and stood, breaking my spiral.

"You and the lady are welcome and have permission to travel through Rohan. May your search not be in vain. You shall stay until you are rested." At once, he was gone and drawn back through a doorway to my left. As the court rose, Gandalf swept me off to the side and was in the process of answering my questions when the commander from before approached us alone.

"There is a great weight on the king Gandalf," he whispered lowly. "He spends most of his time debating with his councilmen, sometimes late into the night. I am not certain what they debate, but something tells me that a foul thing is brewing."

Gandalf considered the man's words for a brief moment.

"Keep watch over the King and be sure his head is not all swarmed with details and despair," he said in council. The commander nodded to both of us and left.

"Mistress?"

I turned about and saw a young woman had arrived among the commotion of the court. Her hair was drawn back and she had a warm face. It lifted my spirits and I could not help but smile.

"I am Éoania, my lady and I am to bring you to your lodgings."

"My lodgings?" I sputtered. "I am to have lodgings?"

"Do you think the King would have his visitors sleep on the floor?" she teased in a low and pleasing voice. "This way if you please."

I looked to Gandalf and only received an amused look.

"I'd like to talk to you later, if that is alright," I told him. He grinned and, being the pilgrim, went off in search of something else.

I shadowed Éoania, who led me to a side corridor where we went up a narrow flight of stairs and walked along a landing that overlooked the great hall. The banisters stood taller up this high. The air was drafty and refreshing though; it was neither hot nor too cold and as I peeked over the railing, I watched people going about their business. This sight of normalcy was a wonderful, comforting event, for it acted like a distilment point to my trembling innards.

Men dressed in amour were filing past the great hearth; woman looking like Éoania fluttered about with bundles in their arms; other women went about in small groups. I even saw a little blond haired girl twirl around by one of the tapestries near the dais. Her mother came and drew her away when, as being called from across the room, I realized my own emotional irrationality. I needed sleep…and maybe a piece of chocolate.

When I became aware that Éoania and I had stopped and were watching another column of soldiers file through the hall, she looked down and chuckled.

"Handsome they are," Éoania mused. "Do they have men like that from your country?"

"No," I could not help but sigh. "No they certain don't."

She laughed with all her face and then went on. Soon she came to a small room, tucked alongside an outer wall. I was given a bed, an oven with a basin, and a window that surveyed the royal stables. It was better than I could have expected.

"This is perfect," I beamed. A bed! Heavens to have a bed after spending nearly a week on horseback. I could have cried in pure joy.

"Water is being brought up as we speak my lady," Éoania laugh quietly as I inspected the room. "There on the bed you will see clothing has also been proved. When we were told of your arrival there was little time to take heed of what your measurements might be."

I held the gown up to my body. The material would be loose and fitting; but in truth, I was merely glad to be in a place with security and warmth.

"This will do just fine," I smiled at her. "You are too kind to do all this for me."

The young woman grinned and stepped closer.

"I have lost members of my family to those…creatures, my lady," she murmured. "Théoden King is a good man—he is a good king. And he takes care of his people. Not accepting this would be a wound to his pride."

"But—"

"Hush now. Sleep and then we will eat. You look like a ghost your face is so white!"

That amused me and I chanced a glance out the window. The view was refreshing and liberating for it was of the great mountains and all the open space surrounding that of the choral. I felt my lungs soar in the air and as the breeze came through, I noticed a young lad trying to corral a wild grey.

"That is a beauty," I told her.

"The stallion arrived just this morning. The king has decreed that if the boy could ride him by the end of the day, the horse was his."

"But it's nearly supper."

Éoania pursed her lips and grinned.

"He's a stubborn lad that one. Just like his father."

I leaned on the window and grew to love the sight. The kitchen maids had arrived, hauling a wooden pale, and Éoania instructed them while I watched. A child's cry came from the field and I looked just as the boy, who was still young enough to grow roses on his cheeks, managed to sit atop the horse and braving ride about the enclosure, his chest puffed up and a cry in his throat. The king suddenly appeared and standing at one of the posts, congratulated him.

I finally rested then. Within these walls was no threat of any kind. There nothing coming towards me to attack; and the great doom of the east lofted highly on the clouds. Leaves were swirling around the horse's flanks and the children were laughing both within and without the hall. Smoked meat came from the kitchens and I caught myself thinking that this was a good place.

My aching body yearned for the soft, clean, supple bed purring at me. Éoania helped me to change and no sooner had she gone, I was off and dreaming of white horses and walking trees.


	7. Chapter 7

However, these dreams were not as peaceful as one would suppose. Whether by some cosmic disruption I had caused or because of a wrinkle in time that I had unknowingly formed, my mind was broken into by something terrible and dark.

I stood in what looked to be a field that was devoid of its lush greenery. I watched men, great lords and masters, gather around me in some rustic fashion their robes brilliant against the stark grays and ashen soil. Together, they lay prostrate at my feet, kissing the hem of my alabaster gown and giving me the great treasures of their lands. One after another came forth and asked for counsel, anything that might sooth the rifts within their lands now that the war had ended. _The war_? I thought. _It is over already?_ One nobleman, dressed in black velvet and fur, stepped close to me and brought forward a single marble orb. My eyes grew fixated on the inanimate object as it sat silent and still. By degrees, any bewildering sensations or thoughts of cloudily high romance I was having in the merriment of such attention, quickly turned in the opposing direction; and my focal point was now rigidly attached to this singular object.

I knew what that _thing_ was. They were not all yes accounted for, these lost seeing stones; I instinctively wanted it to smash, to be thrown out of my sight and covered in the depths of the earth. Before me was a palantir, one that sees from afar. I was not sure who now held this seeing stone, nor which one presently was before me.

Gradually, I moved myself away; then, as if by sudden thought, the sphere sprang to life and opened into two living flames within its center. It called to me while a cold pain shot through my arms and legs, leaving me struck still. Fear took hold of me. My thoughts crumbled onto one another; they feel and spiraled; there was no breaking it. Every cowardice act, every fault, every devil that was tucked away in the mind of a jaded woman, was brought home like a Prodigal Son. I wept and believed I was naked in the dark, beyond the comfort of a veil, to forever be left in this shrouded land of a mystical void. My chest gasped and I awoke with a start, sitting up among twisted bedding, and opened my eyes to a very normal sight of an open window and coals burning in the oven.

I was trembling; and throwing my feet on the floor, I held my head in my hands. I could not take a breath without a shudder. Common sense reasoned to me that what had just happened was not my present reality. It told me I was safe, warm, and protected; the walls of my mind shook, but did not give way. And despite a perception that the obvious power of the enemy was growing—and in addition to the inexplicable alarm my heartbeat was still under—if this was the work of conscious, mental warfare, then indeed, the enemy was some_thing_ to be keenly aware of, for he was capable of great and powerful things.

The stove hissed and popped with the embers dying inside it; winds made grand efforts to finger its way into through the window, howling at its futility; and I could hear in the distance, the sounds of people. The shadows of the dreams melted away and fizzled, leaving only a subtle taste of them. The enemy had not yet moved against these people; and as of tonight, I was safe and protected.

I too had a select decision before me. I could figure that while this might have been a misguided stream of consciousness resulting from stress and uneasy, I knew that what I chose to do with the time I had been given here was of more consequence than any other wonders I could have anticipated. Whatever the Valar had planned, my purpose for being here was to be of some use. Just in the way that great writers do not mention an event or utter a phrase without wringing of its full capacity, so I began to believe that I had been _called_ here (if you will) for a function I had yet to find out. I did not feel it would be such a contrasting deviation from who I was, such as in the distinction between going left or right; but more or less equal to that of taking a step past the farthest from home you've ever been. As if the life one lives each day, while systematically being no different in its mundane daily function, can suddenly look quite altered once one looks back and sees all the small choices that were made.

Could it be like that? Could it be that simple, while being beyond my comprehension?

As I washed my face of grime and sudor, I took courage in that at least I was not wallowing, that at least I now had mustered enough strength to get myself off that bed and dress, though I felt the chills of fear caressing my fingers. The enemy would not conquer me that easily.

The brown garment Éoania had left for me fit my body snuggly but was pleasant to wear. This was only the time I needed to notice that my curves were more defined; and the change in diet and exercise had done my physique some good. I took my time in walking down the long corridor to the small stair that led to the Great Hall since I found that observing the people as they went about their business was far more stimulating than the thoughts I was battling to keep back. I watched young girls spy out handsome soldiers and flutter about when to their liking happened a glance their direction; various men sat hunched together as if they discussed some very important business and the weights of the world; and the women were no different in their constant darting glances and whispers, while others were content to listen and observe. I noticed Éoania talking with other women and a time or two she chanced a sight at a broad, blonde haired warrior.

The air was warm and filled with scent of a stuck pig, the animal being over the focal point of the great hearth. Servants went about placing cups and utensils around those already seated; a pair of dogs watched the pig glisten and turn, licking their snouts and appearing lost. I saw the little boy from the choral ambush a tall man who was not the king. He was thrown over the man's shoulder and yelled out in surprise, laughing and giggling the whole way. There was familiarity but decorum; respect, but sensitivity; and they did not seem to be the brutes, as I knew their rumored nature had made them up to be.

Spice wine was offered as I had joined Gandalf at a table near the dais and I felt the warmth swirl in my empty stomach. The wizard, looking over a pint of ale, was quite amused at my pink cheeks.

"It would appear that the lady had decided to join the land of the living again!" he exclaimed once I had smiled at him. The only other person I knew came bounding over and asked to see how the gown fit. Her eyes gleamed in satisfaction. My lack of enthusiasm caused her some distress and she sat me down and turned me to her.

"Are you well?" she whispered. "Should I have food sent to your room instead?" The noise was growing and I only nodded to her first question and waved off the second.

"I am well," I explained. "I will be better soon. I just need something to eat!"

My friend laughed at this and held on to my hand as we continued to wait for the king. I noted however, that Théoden's chair was not the only one seated on the platform; another sat next to the kings and at the point I began observing, was subsequently filled by a young man with a serious face. It was then that I first laid my eyes upon the Prince of Rohan, Théodred. Éoania caught sight of him and seemed surprised.

"Isn't he always here?" I asked.

She explained to me that in recent months he was absent more than he used to be. "The King doesn't like it, even we low people can see that. The Prince is his pride." She then continued to make clear that Prince Théodred must be here for something significant, otherwise his seat would have gone vacant.

"Might it be due to the orc raids?" I asked her curiously. She said something to the extent that anything was a possibility these days; but she cared not as much as some when it came what went on beyond their borders.

"I have more important things to think about then those heartless monsters," was her definition before a shadow passed over her smooth face.

"Then who was that boy with the king earlier today? Surely that is his son too?" I asked though I had an inkling as to the answer.

"No there is no other. That one you saw was the Chief Marshall's son, Éomer, the king's nephew."

I pretended to muse over this new revelation as I continued my observations of the impassive face of Théodred. I had read that he was not a bad looking man; and for once, those accounts were right. His jaw was strong, his brow fixated as his father's, and yet there was gentleness in his eye. They were misted and pensive; and I was drew fresh air in this subtle detail. To behold such an old soul in the body of a young man, one who withheld grief and carried a great weight, was a breath that I had needed.

That was when the herald proclaimed "The King! The King!"

Théoden King, once standing before those gathered, gave a blessing to the people of this great land and to all that may yet come in the days ahead, before sitting himself and commencing the beginning the meal. The items were such as I had only ever seen in books and in films. We were passed roast ducks and other fowl, various meats and portions of the pig, breads glazes in honeys, an assortment of meads and ales, and something that looked like potatoes but tasted nothing like it. I smiled, laughed when a truly funny joke was said (and naturally with a cynical wizard in your mist, that is hardly an uncommon occurrence); but I decided in my heart that should everything remain as it was, as it felt on this night, I should be quite satisfied to remain in this realm for the rest of my days. The technicalities of such an idea where as far away from me as the east is from the west.

Once the last of the wine had been spent, we were cleared away and music played from near the platform close to the royal family. Young girls danced until their faces were red and young men mustered up the courage to ask them—entertaining when they would gladly face masses of orcs but not the face of a pretty maiden. Éoania colored a deep shade when that tall, broad man I had seen her watching drew her away from me and into the next few dances.

"Does my lady not dance?"

I turned, startled by the deep voice, and saw the Prince standing near behind and hastily dipped my head.

"I don't think I have the head for it, sir. Besides, I think the wine was stronger than I am." He chuckled and continued to watch the rounds.

"I have heard of your story lady," he eventually added. "And I am sorry that you had to see it."

Words failed me and I stood there speechless with nothing to say that would soothe the lump in my throat; but I did not seem to have to in that case of this man. His position was well known, given the way people were revolving around him, but as I spoke to him and looked him in the eye, all that seemed to fall at the wayside. Since I knew nothing of what it meant to live in a court, the idea of rank was not ingrained into me. What was ingrained was the touching emotion on my stomach; and after I swallowed, I asked what had brought him back to Meduseld.

"My father wished me home for a while. He said I was away from him for too long and I could no longer neglect my sovereign." This made me smile.

"He loves you, you know," I remarked to him.

"Do you presume to know much about my father?" he asked, countering me. I explained that it did not take a layman to see the king greatly cared for his only son. But once the words were out of my mouth I thought I had said too much.

"I'm sorry Your Grace, I didn't mean—"

"No. You speak plainly, as you should. I should have expected it. Forgive me, if I might be honest, I am not myself tonight."

"Why is that?" I ultimately asked him.

He paused for a moment and sighed.

"Only that there is much that is changing; and I find myself changing with it."

I could not respond verbally to such truthful statement. Théodred watched me and in lifting up his face, asked me, "Then might I ask you, lady, what brought you to Meduseld?"

Since we were in the mood to be honest with a complete stranger, I disclosed to him a brief version of the events that had brought me here. What I had wanted to do though, was watch the dancing and think no more on dark and dreary things. After, I asked him why he studied me as he was. Was there something wrong? Something on my face?

"No," he replied gently. "We are all curious about you, Lady Aerin. Your arrival does not exactly come at an opportune time."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that there is a different mood about the kingdom and we do not take as kindly to strangers as we once did. And your story, however tragic and terrible, is vague and what is being rumored around I can tell, is not exactly easy for the people. The king, however, has willingly offered you protection."

"His Grace is indeed gracious to let me stay here as he has."

"That is not what I want saying," he said stepping closer. "I partially came over to talk to you to hint that you are to be installed as a ward of the King, if you choose. It appears my father has taken pity over your situation and I thought it might make you smile to hear of your good fortune."

_A ward?_ My head spun with the room and the Prince wrapped his arms around the back of me, so I did not yet fall though it felt that way. _This is too much. This is all too much._

"I must thank the King," I at last murmured to the Prince's bent ear.

"Tomorrow, lady. After a night's rest. There," he stood me up. "Are you well to stand on your own?"

"Indeed."

"Would you like me to walk back with you to your room?"

"No thank you sir. A prince should not escort a nobody." What I wanted was a walk outside, in the fresh air of a cool night. "How do I get through the main door?"

He looked at me quizzically.

"I cannot allow you to walk around the grounds alone, my lady. It is not always safe for a handsome woman on nights when there is a great deal of drinking."

I could not help the smile that spread across my face as he took my arm and parted the crowd like a sea. I kept my fluttering stomach at bay since, as everyone knows, adrenaline does not mix well with the warmth of ale—no matter the strength one who bores it.

The stone terrace came only too soon and I was springing free of the prince and walking to edge, taking in the sight and revitalizing gusts. I took in long sips of the cool air and revealed in the scent of burning fires and sweet hay. Théodred was there, I think, content to say nothing and be heard by none. As the glimmering moments of joy faded and bumps crept up my sleeves, I looked back and laughed, for I could not contain what pleasant feelings this night had so astonishingly given.

I walked back to the prince and we shortly went walking along the outer walls of the main hall. Théodred was wonderful company. He neither talked too much nor too little and constantly responded to what I said with a piece of conversation of his own. His serious continence suited me then and I felt on the level playing field of an equal for the first time in years.

What excited me that most however, was how he talked openly about the campaigns and what it was they were fighting against; he told me of his company and what it was to be the Second Marshall of the land. What I did mainly though, after some time, was just listen to what he had to say. His intellect was based more on experience and therefore offered a rawer expose about what really happened out in the world.

When we came around again to the main door and stood under the banisters, I stared up into the heavens and stood amazed at all the stars. I could not help but stare; the truth in their beauty was universal and perhaps one the most concrete notions to be known. Those dotted skies were an amazing feat, I think mentioned to him, because he no sooner came up and looked out with me.

As the smoke drifted across the blacked night, I caught the idea that this might be a chance to tell someone of what plagued me. He was a prince; and that had to stand for something. Surely he could be trusted if he kept secrets of national security hidden from the world. And given how much he had shared with me, it would be vulgar of me to not share a secret of mine.

"Might I ask you something?" is what I at length asked. We stood near an outer wall and could see the wide range surrounding the city; it was utterly dark and only his guard stood nearby.

"Anything," he whispered back.

"This afternoon, I watched a little boy ride the grey stallion and only just learned that he is your cousin. How many years has he?"

"Ten, by my reckoning. Though he would think otherwise."

If Éomer were ten, then that would make this day fall in the few years before the Great War. In fact, this was around the time Frodo became heir of Bag End and Bilbo's party. What else, more events were now falling into motion that I could barely comprehend and it was only at the prince's cough that I finally regained contact with reality, and looked up at him.

"What does my cousin have to do with anything?" he asked, sounding charmed and confused. All the words I could say suddenly flooded my mouth. I wanted to yell out all that you and I know would take place in the coming years for the boy; however, a deeper, more concerning trepidation bade me to keep my observations to myself. The dream was also on the forefronts of my mind.

"Nothing," I came at last to answer him. "I was merely curious. His father seems to be a brave man."

"Brave, but my uncle can be reckless," he explained. "I thought something else was going to come of that brooding look. You seemed, for a brief moment, as if you were contemplating the events of the entire world!" His humored voice caused me to chuckle.

"No your Grace!" I laughed. "I know it does not do well to dwell upon dreams or stars and forget to live. That does no one any good."

He did not say anything after that, which was something I preferred. The doors opened again and he walked us back into the heat of the room and the sound of clapping hands and laughter. Gandalf was quick to come up my heels and kindly bid the prince to be gone. The wizard did not explain to me why he had so suddenly appeared; his only explanation was that we had to be gone shortly.

"But we've just arrived Gandalf?" I stupidly retorted. Late night talks were not my forte, and though I dreaded being alone, I wanted nothing more than be by myself. My feet ached and my body yearned for rest.

"That is not the point of the matter," he hastily whispered. "A dark shadow passed over here not long before the meal. Given what you have revealed to me these past days I thought to ask you for counsel in this act. Did you see anything, or am I just an aged, old man to you?"

His words were offered in goodness, but this shadow he spoke of slithered into my mind and caused me to see the dream as if a distant memory. I would be warned against sharing anything with anyone; but had not just been willing to tell a Marshall of the Mark, the Prince of Rohan, a kingdom soon to be closely linked with Orthanc and the Enemy, pieces of what I knew for selfish reasons? Gandalf had every reason to be trust by a mere human. He would, I knew in my heart, keep my warnings to himself and head whatever advice I had, ominous dreams be damned. Gandalf was for the greater good of this world; and if I did not speak of what I held, at least to some extent, what other harm would come within the already changed atmosphere of Middle Earth?

I thus told him of my dream. He pondered on it for some time and a thought simply connected itself, which was apparent by the twinkle in his eye. He drew me even closer aside, to a tucked away corridor, closed off to the rest of those present, and uttered into my ear that what he planned to do within the archives of Minas Tirith.

My reaction was to offer my services once we arrived; I could, I mention to him, help in the search for the information that he sought.

"For I know what it looks like Gandalf," I explained. Then, in a seized moment to plead my case, I went with the best explanation of proof I could conjure up, which would hopefully establish in the wizard's mind that I was not some crazed woman. That I knew of what I spoke of when I mentioned shadows in the east and whispers of nameless fears, and the item of power that he had perceived. "I amar prestar aen. Han matho ne nen. Han mathon ned cae. A han noston ned gwilith."

The Grey Pilgrim threw a hand over my mouth and hissed me to be silent.

"You dare speak that to me!" he cried silently. "Then it is as I supposed. No I will not heed your advice and I regret seeking your council, my lady."

I bowed my head, for indeed the Grey Pilgrim was wise. I should have been riddled with anger and upset emotion at being blown down; but I was not. If nothing else, I was lifted to be freed in carrying that all on my own. Gandalf was keen to know when to say things and when not, much more eloquent in the ways of diplomacy that I could ever be—a trait that goes beyond the present moment.

"Théoden King offers to take me as a ward," I mentioned. "What is your counsel on that."

Gandalf took a few breaths to contemplate this and his closing thought for the night before he left me for his own doings, was to advise not to do this.

"Théoden will forgive you. But I sense that you are as a Seer, one with even greater foresight than the Lady Galadriel. And for that, I shall take you with me; but do not say anything else of what you know, for I fear what may become of this world if too much is known."

I went to my bed that night restless and full of anticipation.

**I wanted to thank all those who have joined up in this endeavor despite my lack of attention recently—and I primarily wanted to apologize for the long delay : (. Luckily, I have overcome this bout of writer's block and am even now continuing with the story. I LOVE to hear back from people and am always looking to transform my writing; so please, any notes are welcome.**

**Thanks again everyone,**

**~SJ~**


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